Trust Read online

  We had another day without a word from our captors. They at least let me out to use the bathroom, and they’re giving us food. I don’t think they would do that if they were just going to kill us, so I do have hope. But I still don’t understand what is going on. Why are we here? If they want information, why haven’t they tried to get anything from us? I’m confused, I’m sore, and mostly I’m just exhausted because I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep since I’ve been down here.

  Monday, I think, is about halfway over when the door opens and two men come walking down the hallway. They open Ezra’s cell and the two of them grab ahold of him. Ezra fights against them, but there are two of them, so they overpower him and start to drag him down the hall.

  “Hey!” I yell. “Where are you taking him?”

  But nobody answers. They just keep walking, ignoring me.

  I sigh, backing away from the bars as they leave the area.

  What are they going to do to him? I’m worried. I stand up in my tiny cell and begin to pace back and forth.

  What can I do?

  I pull at the bars, but it doesn’t give, not even a little.

  “Uh!” I scream out in frustration.

  Think, Zara. You have to do something.

  But before I can even begin to think of a plan, I hear Ezra screaming from another room.

  They’re hurting him. Torturing him. And I am powerless to do anything because I am stuck in this tiny cell... this cage. And even if I weren’t in here, I’m not strong enough to do anything.

  I make a promise to myself to train harder than ever with Dylan.

  Dylan lets me slack off a lot. Actually, all the guys do. I know they mean well, but I can’t allow myself to get in another situation like this one... where I can’t defend myself.

  I hear Ezra scream louder and my chest hurts.

  I wish I could trade places with him, because I hate that he’s going through this. But I’m also glad that it’s not me in there.

  When I get out of here, I am going to take my name off the list for torture training. What made me think I was strong enough to handle it? I’m not. Now that I am here, in a situation where torture is a real possibility, I realize I was a bit over-zealous.

  The guys were right.

  They’re always right.

  I miss them so much.

  I think about who I will hug first when I see them. I don’t want to choose. I just want to hug all of them at once, if that is even possible.

  I regret fighting with Cam about torture training. He fought so hard for me not to sign up and I was kind of mean about the whole thing. He knows me better than I know me apparently.

  Honestly, I think I just wanted to do it because the guys were so against it. Not that I want to defy them, they’re my team. I want to be agreeable. But I also want to be equal. How can I be equal if we have different levels of security clearance?

  It doesn’t matter now. I will let them keep things from me if that is what it takes. I just can’t go through whatever Ezra is going through right now.

  I’m not sure how long he is back there—minutes, hours, it all bleeds together as I listen to his screams. Eventually though, they do bring Ezra back. One of the guys half-carries, half-drags him to the cell. His face is bloodied and bruised and he’s not moving.

  “Is he okay?” I ask.

  But nobody answers. The guy just drops his body onto the floor, leaving him there. Ezra’s cell door shuts with a loud clank, making me jump. I hear the guy walk down the hallway, but I’m too busy watching Ezra to notice. After a moment, I see his chest rise.

  He’s alive.

  I suppose I should be glad that he’s passed out. If he were awake, he’d be in agonizing pain right now.

  Poor guy.

  I bet his team is worried about him, just like the guys are worried about me.

  The teams at Spy School are so tight knit. We’re more than friends... we are literally family. Cam, Tristan, Austin, Stefan and Dylan... they are everything to me now. And I say that, knowing them just over three weeks. How much more are they going to mean to me in three months? Or three years?

  Ezra has been with his team a lot longer than I have, so I can only imagine how he’s feeling.

  I sit on the floor, with my face pressed up against the iron bars. I watch as Ezra’s chest rises and falls, and my heart breaks for him. For me. For the people at Spy School who are most likely spending every waking hour searching for us.

  I also wonder why they chose Ezra today. Why did they not come to my cell and drag me down the hall? Why did they not torture me?

  What did Ezra tell them?

  What do they want?

  And better yet, is tomorrow going to be my turn?

  I hope the guys get here. I hope they find us and rescue us, because I’m not sure how much longer Ezra and I can survive in here.

  Trust—I have to trust the guys. I have to trust that they are going to get me out of here. I have to trust that they won’t be too late. And I have to trust that I will be okay... that we will be okay.

  I look at Ezra’s face once more. The bruises under his eyes look terrible—so dark. I can’t even imagine how bad he’s going to look in the morning. It’s always worse the second day. I also hope he can manage to stay asleep all night, because I’d hate for him to wake up in pain.

  One thing is certain—it’s going to be a very long night.

  Tuesday, October 2

  Elizabeth Miller.

  I stayed awake for a good part of the night. I just kept checking to make sure that Ezra was breathing. Much to my relief, every time I looked over, his chest was moving. I was also glad that he stayed asleep all night. I was worried that he would wake up and be in pain, but that didn’t happen. I’m not really sure if that’s good or bad. I hope he doesn’t have a concussion.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, I fell asleep. I’m still not sure how I slept so soundly, but I did. I must’ve been so exhausted that I passed out.

  I hear Ezra stir, so I look up at his face.

  His bruises are even darker this morning.

  “Ezra,” I say.

  He looks over at me.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  Stupid question. Of course, he’s not okay. He spent a good part of his day yesterday being tortured by some terrorist.

  “I’m okay,” he says. “I’ve had worse.”

  I can tell that he is trying to put on a brave face, but I can see how much pain he’s in just by looking in his eyes.

  I just look at him, not saying anything. I’m not sure what to say. I have a lot of questions, but it doesn’t seem right to ask him right now, considering how much pain he’s probably in. So, we just sit there. Me, glad that he’s awake and breathing. Him, probably wishing he had some strong pain medication to get him through the day.

  This sucks.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him.

  “I’m just glad they didn’t take you,” he says.

  Which breaks my heart even more.

  Gah.

  Why does Ezra have to be so nice about being tortured? Why is he trying to make me feel better?

  “Did they say anything to you yesterday?” I ask. “About why we’re here?”

  He starts to respond, but a door opens up and the two guys who drug Ezra off yesterday are back. I expect them to come to my cell and I wait in anticipation, knowing it’s my turn to be tortured. But instead, they grab Ezra, again.

  “Take me instead,” I say, as they pull him forcefully. I can see how much pain he is in.

  But the two guys ignore me and continue dragging Ezra down the hallway. Once they’re gone, I close my eyes tight, trying to erase the look on his face from my memory.

  He can’t take much more of this. Why didn’t they take me instead?

  Another noise catches my attention and I watch as the two large guys walk back and open my cell. One of the guys grabs onto my arm and pulls me with him.
I have to run to keep up with him.

  My heart is pounding fast and I am nervous.

  What is happening?

  When we walk into the room, I see that Ezra is chained up, with large chains wrapped around his arms above his head and there are chains around his ankles. He looks miserable. Even worse now that I can see him in proper light.

  There are two wooden chairs in the room—they remind me of the kind my grandmother used to have sitting around her dining room table when I was a small child. The guy motions me to sit down so that I am facing Ezra. And the big guy sits down in front of me. But the other guy, the smaller one, he stands by Ezra, which frightens me a little.

  When I sit down on the chair, they bind my hands behind my back, tying me to the chair. I don’t like this one bit, but maybe I am finally going to get answers.

  “Where is Elizabeth Miller?”

  I have no idea who Elizabeth Miller, but I recognize her name from the file that Ms. Schmidt gave me last week. I was told to profile the people in it.

  Elizabeth Miller is a twenty-five-year old woman. When she was a teenager, she got involved with the wrong kind of man, the dangerous kind. He was in the mafia. She claims she didn’t know for a long time, even though there were signs. She says she was in love, so she overlooked the reg flags. It wasn’t until she watched her now husband shoot a man that she realized just how bad things really were.

  Elizabeth knew the police couldn’t do anything. Her husband had people on the inside with the police. So, she went to the FBI. They got her into hiding while they built a case on her husband, but he always seemed to find her. After a few very close escapes, the FBI called for help. They didn’t realize who they were calling, of course, but they got us. We hid Elizabeth and her two-year-old child and her husband hasn’t found her since. But after a year in hiding, it looks like her husband got the lead he needed.

  I have no idea how he found me. I am just a student at Spy School who just happened to get his wife’s file. This man who runs the New York City mafia must have a farther reach than I dreamed he could have. He’s powerful.

  “I have no idea who Elizabeth Miller is,” I say.

  I’m not a good liar, but I am a good actress. So, I force myself into a role—a role where I never read Elizabeth’s file. And I say it with such conviction the guy actually takes a step back to look at me, like he’s confused.

  From Elizabeth’s file, I do know where she is. But that wasn’t supposed to be my goal from the file. My goal was to find out if she is as innocent as she says she is. I personally think there are too many holes. She’s lying about something. Like... maybe she did know he was in the mafia before she saw him shoot another man. Maybe that just woke her up to the monster her husband truly is.

  The guy in front of me turns to the guy who is standing by Ezra. “Do we have the right girl?”

  “Zara Summers. She’s our girl,” the guy says. “Her mother is Isabel Jensen-Livingston.”

  He turns back around to me. “You’re a good liar.”

  I don’t correct him. I doubt that would make this situation any better.

  “Maybe this will help change your mind,” he says, turning once again to the guy.

  The guy who is standing by Ezra punches him in the stomach. Ezra cries out, doubling over in pain.

  It’s not right.

  They’ve already spent all day torturing him yesterday. Why are they doing this to him again?

  “Don’t hurt him,” I say. “Hurt me. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  “Again,” the guy says.

  I watch as the other guy swings his fist into the side of Ezra’s already bruised face. This time, Ezra ends up falling over. I’m worried he’s knocked out, but he stirs on the floor.

  “You only speak when I tell you to,” the guy says.

  I want to say something back. To smart off to him. But I don’t, because I know it would only hurt Ezra if I did. My only goal right now is to make sure he makes it out of here okay. I can’t let anything happen to him.

  “You are a beautiful girl,” the guy says. “It’d be a shame if I had to mess up your pretty face.”

  “I can take it,” I say. “Just don’t hurt him.”

  I look over at Ezra and watch as the guy yanks him up, so he’s standing again. He doesn’t look so good. Not at all.

  “What do you want?” I ask the guy.

  “I want to know where Elizabeth is,” he says.

  “I told you, I don’t know who she is,” I say. “I’m just a high school student. I think you’ve got the wrong girl.”

  “I don’t like liars,” the guy says. He pulls out a knife, opening the long blade. “Tell me the truth or pretty boy loses a finger.”

  I keep my mouth shut, going through the options in my head.

  Fighting them is not an option. Even if I weren’t bound, I’m not strong enough. These guys are probably two hundred-pound men. Plus, they have weapons. I note the gun sitting in the holster on one of the guy’s hip.

  Letting Ezra lose a finger is not an option. I can’t let that happen to him. Not for anything.

  But telling the truth... that’s not an option either. Ms. Schmidt told me to keep it a secret. She said it was important and I believe her.

  My only option left is telling a lie.

  Not a lie.

  I need to make up a story. I need to fill the role. And I need to do it well. I need these guys to believe a fake truth.

  With no other option, I sigh and look down, like I’m defeated. Like I’m about to tell them the truth.

  “Elizabeth Miller is in Florida,” I say. “In Miami. She’s been there for the past year under the alias of Kayla Elliot, a twenty-five-year old single mom.” I say an address, one that I know to be real, but is definitely not where Elizabeth Miller is.

  Elizabeth is in some small town in Kentucky. But he doesn’t need to know that.

  I look at the guy, curious to see if he bought my lie. He looks at me for a solid minute before turning to his friend.

  “Do you believe her?” he asks.

  The other guy shrugs his shoulders.

  “I am going to make a phone call. I will know within minutes if you are telling the truth,” he says. “If you’re not, your friend over there is going to pay.”

  I swallow hard as I watch him leave the room. The guy standing by Ezra follows quickly.

  Ezra is about to lose a finger... or worse... if I don’t do something.

  I pull at the restraints behind my back and find that they are loose on my left hand. If I can pull...

  I yank my hand hard. It hurts, but I somehow manage to get my hand free. I used my left hand to free myself.

  Ezra won’t be as easy to loosen. They chained him up good.

  That’s what they get for thinking I’m not a threat.

  Think...

  I look around for a key to his chains, but there is no key.

  But there is a desk in the corner. I look around the desk quickly and find a letter opener and a paperclip. It’s not much, but I think I can work with this. I use the paperclip to try and remove his restraints, but I have no idea what I am doing.

  “Give it to me,” Ezra says.

  So, I do. With shaky hands, he somehow manages to release to restraints. I catch him before he falls to the ground.

  “What are you going to do with that?” he asks, motioning towards the letter opener.

  “I’m going to use it as a weapon if I have to,” I say. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time. We have to get out of here.”

  “How do you plan on doing that?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “But you can’t lose a finger because of me. So, we have to act fast.”

  He doesn’t complain.

  I’m half-carrying him as we walk to the door. I listen at the door, but don’t hear anybody, so I quietly open it.

  Nobody is in the hallway.

  Their mistake for leaving us alone.

  I guess they th
ought we couldn’t get away, since we were in restraints.

  “Let’s go,” I say.

  “I think there is a staircase this way,” Ezra says. “I saw it yesterday when they were...”

  He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to.

  Ezra is heavier than he looks. He’s trying to walk, but he relies heavily on me to get him down the hallway and to the stairway. We walk up together, slowly, trying not to make any noises. Upstairs, I hear voices, but I don’t see anybody. We try to make no noise as we walk out way through the maze of a hallway. I hear footsteps, so I open the first door I find and walk inside, shutting it behind us. Not too long after, I hear footsteps going down the stairs. Which means we have to get out of here.

  Now.

  There is a window in this room, so I walk over to it and push it up.

  “We’ve got to get out here, and we’ve got to be quick,” I tell Ezra.

  He nods.

  “Think you can handle this?” I ask.

  “I have to,” he says.

  I get out first, jumping down. Hopefully, I will be able to help Ezra, but I’m honestly not that strong. I do my best, though. He nearly falls, but I catch his weight. I have no idea how I kept myself from falling over, but as soon as his feet hit the ground, we run.

  We’re running slowly. Really slowly. But we have to get somewhere and we have to hide, because those guys are going to realize we are missing at any time. I don’t even want to imagine what will happen to us if they discover that we’ve escaped, but I imagine they aren’t the forgiving sort.

  If they catch us, we are dead.

  Trust.

  Ezra and I run as fast as he possibly can for about five minutes before we both come to a dead stop when we see what is in front of us.

  The school.

  Spy School.

  We are on campus.

  The two of us were so busy running that we didn’t notice where we were. Though, to be fair, we were in the woods and it’s not like I could tell where we are by the trees.

  “Come on,” I say, as we keep running towards the school. We are now running towards the boys’ dormitory—towards Cam’s room. Once I find Cam... or any of the guys... I know I will be safe. Until then, my heart is pounding fast and hard.